


Second-Hand Smoke

by define_serenity



Series: Seblaine Week 2019 [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dragons, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Animals, Care of Magical Creatures, Dragons, Flirting, M/M, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 11:41:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20173660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/define_serenity/pseuds/define_serenity
Summary: “Ministerul Magiei vă dorește o zi plăcută…”—a woman’s voice greets him, well before his feet touch solid ground and the uncomfortable pull around his navel dissipates. Blaine doubles over and clutches his stomach, drawing in a few deep breaths through his nose to stop his breakfast from spilling all over the parquet floors. Oi.Travelling by Portkey hadn’t been his preferred method of transportation.[After numerous invitations sent by owl, Blaine finally takes Sebastian up on his offer to visit the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary where he works. As a Care for Magical Creatures professor he thought he’d seen his share of fantastic beasts. Sebastian, however, is eager to prove him wrong.]





	Second-Hand Smoke

**Author's Note:**

> Wip finished for [seblaineaffairs](www.seblaineaffairs.tumblr.com)' **Seblaine Week 2019**, day 6: Finish Your WIP. This was a huge labor of love after falling in love with the creatures in _Fantastic Beasts_, so that's probably why it took me a whole entire year to actually finish (this was started for the 'dragons' prompt for last year's Seblaine Week haha). Huge thanks to **[anisstaranise](www.anisstaranise.tumblr.com)** for brainstorming sessions and all the encouragement!!
> 
> Romanian translations came exclusively from Google Translate, so apologies for any mistakes there!

“_Ministerul Magiei vă dorește o zi plăcută _...” 

—a woman’s voice greets him, well before his feet touch solid ground and the uncomfortable pull around his navel dissipates. Blaine doubles over and clutches his stomach, drawing in a few deep breaths through his nose to stop his breakfast from spilling all over the parquet floors.

_ Oi_.

Travelling by Portkey hadn’t been his preferred method of transportation. Not only had he been required to apply for an international travel pass at the London Portkey Office _ in person _, he’d jumped through about a dozen hoops only to be told by a terse goblin that none of it had been necessary because an official Portkey route to Romania had been established in the early 1970s, when it became an important sanctuary for illegally traded magical creatures. 

Then, to make matters worse, he found out days before his departure he needed an additional travel pass because his initial route would take him as far as Bucharest, still quite a ways from the Dragon Sanctuary. And since the Department of Magical Transportation in Romania wasn’t in the habit of handing out passes to anyone who felt like seeing XXXXX-rated wizard killers up close, he would have to state his reasons for visiting in a written declaration upon his arrival. If they were deemed insufficient, he’d be sent straight back to London. 

His Hogwarts credentials should suffice to scale that particular hurdle.

Somehow he doubted ‘visiting hot dragonologist’ would be an acceptable enough reason.

At least travelling by Portkey beat Apparition; he’d neglected the skill since he started his tenure at Hogwarts, and since he’d only ever seen his current destination in pictures— he wanted to avoid leaving behind any of his limbs in London. 

A quick click of heels follows his arrival, revealing a short woman in the highest heels he’s ever seen, wavy blonde hair framing her sharp features; April Rhodes, aid to the Romanian Minister of Magical Transportation, who he’s been in contact with for the better part of three days getting his travel plans in order.

“_Profesor _ Anderson,” she says, “_Bine ați venit în România_. I bring you to the Portkey _ Departament_.”

With that she turns, and proceeds swiftly down the hallway despite the coquette pencil skirt glueing her legs together.

He looks back to see the bronzed umbrella he’d touched a hand to at the Ministry in London floating mid-air, the spelled flap display above it rotating to read ‘Plecări / Departures.’

“_Mulțumesc _,” he stutters unintelligibly, expressing gratitude for the great personal care the Ministry had taken in his journey. Home to some of the finest institutes with regards to the care of magical creatures, he’d once entertained the thought of moving here; living in such close proximity to so many creatures that needed help seemed like the natural point toward which his life had gravitated since childhood. Yet, when Hogwarts asked him to stay and teach Care of Magical Creatures he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to teach at one of the most prestigious wizarding schools in the world. Maybe he could guest lecture in Romania in the years to come; for now, Hogwarts was his home. 

He follows closely behind April, who traverses long tall hallways wainscoted in oak on either side, floating candles offering a spectacle of light that glinted off the bronze vaulting supporting the ceiling. Inside the ceiling an enchantment showcased an array of green foliage, leaves of sweet cherry trees, elms and sycamore maples, rustling softly in an immeasurable breeze.

A shrill chirp sounds from his inside breast pocket.

“What is that?” April asks, her pace unrelenting as her head turns.

A small leaf pops out from the lapels of his jacket. 

“Nothing,” he lies as he pushes the leaf back inside, no need to explain the little stowaway, a bowtruckle he nursed back to health after the sapling Wiggentree he guarded got trampled by some unassuming Muggles.

Bowtruckles barely warranted their one-X rating, and David was far more harmless than any of his brothers and sisters when threatened, but he didn’t want to run the risk of his application being denied simply because he carried a bowtruckle with separation anxiety.

Or was the anxiety his?

He’d never felt the urge to travel the way other wizards and witches did. Home held far more comfort than any place he could think of, so he stayed put, content to watch over the creatures under his care. That’s how it was when he lived with his parents, then with his mom, and how it remained during the summers he resided at Hogwarts.

For Sebastian Smythe, he’d decided to make an exception.

Or rather, for the dragons.

If he’d known beforehand the trek it would be, he might have continued to decline Sebastian’s invitations. 

On top of all the travel planning he first took the Hogwarts Express from Hogsmeade to London, where his students had assailed him with questions about the sanctuary and which dragons he would see, if he would stay long and if Sebastian would return to guest lecture next year, if he was nervous or scared or simply excited, and somewhere in the midst of all that he’d barely suppressed a panic attack. Of course he was nervous and scared and excited. He’d packed all but his entire wardrobe into a satchel with an Extension Charm, even though no one had specified how long he’d be staying.

Why had Sebastian invited him? Was it simply his way of returning the favor? Or was there some other intent behind it? 

Once he’d reached London, he tracked down the broken-down red phone booth that would take him down to the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic, and he’d spent half an hour searching for the Portkey Office despite the straightforward instructions— Level Six, fifth door to the right, International Portkey Travels.

That’s how he’d finally made it to Romania, where he still needed to take another Portkey to the Sanctuary.

Why did he have this overwhelming need to please people? Why couldn’t he have let sleeping dragons lie and said ‘no’?

He thinks somewhere he has the answer to that.

And it most certainly wasn’t _ dragons_.

Led into the Portkey Office he’s handed a single piece of parchment and a quill, and hastily scribbled down his reasons for visiting the Sanctuary in each of the designated boxes, having debated them a few times by now. They weren’t all selfish; it would be a great learning experience to work with real dragons and meet the people who devoted their time to studying and taking care of them—

It also wouldn’t kill him to step out of his comfort zone. 

For the past three years he’s spent every season at Hogwarts, and while there were creatures there that needed tending, while he felt at home within its warm walls, he’d always had the sense that there was so much more out there for him to discover. Beyond the loch and the sloping lawns lay a whole world filled with the most magnificent creatures, big ones, small ones, rare and endangered, unnamed or yet undiscovered— and he dreamed of them in his sleep, waking up to an unsated curiosity spilling well past the confines of his sheltered existence.

If anything, it’s that curiosity Sebastian had tapped into with his green slivers of eyes and the quaint smile that near constantly pulled around his mouth.

Not anything more indelicate.

His application finished, he’s directed to a chair in the waiting area, where he sits, stirring in the same thoughts that had overrun his every waking hour since he decided to come. Why were they so difficult for him to reconcile? Was it so hard for him to let Sebastian want him? Why did that simple possibility seem so inconceivable?

Sebastian came to Hogwarts early May, the week before the Hufflepuff-Slytherin Quidditch match, for a week-long series of lectures on different species of dragons and how to care for them, and the other kinds of neglected or mistreated creatures brought into the sanctuary.

Unlike him, Sebastian had Apparated to Hogsmeade, all his limbs intact, boasting how he needed the skill and reflexes to avoid getting caught by a dragon’s fire or its talons. Even though modesty clearly wasn’t Sebastian’s middle name, it was clear why he was sent. Sebastian had an easy charm about him and an even easier smile, and he was comfortable in front of a classroom.

Needless to say, each class Sebastian lectured hung on his every word. 

He’d caught more than one of the girls sighing dreamily with their chins in hand, and the boys all expressed their sudden interest in working with dragons too, thinking Sebastian’s scars cool. 

From Muggle folklore to the 1709 Warlocks’ Convention that outlawed dragon breeding, Sebastian mastered the materials he prepared. As a treat to the students he’d brought dragon teeth and horns to show, along with gloves made of dragonhide they were encouraged to try and destroy.

The final _ pièce de résistance _ -and his personal favorite- were several model dragons no bigger than the palm of his hand— the kids all gathered around in a circle and Sebastian winked at him, “They pale in comparison to the real thing”, making that his fifth instance of blushing out of sight of his students at something the _ hot dragonologist _ said.

Sebastian hadn’t made it easy.

In between each class, in the idle hours of the morning and the evening, Sebastian kept close. The school put him up in a room above the Three Broomsticks Inn and he could come and go as he pleased, but Sebastian made it a point to stay by his side. They talked as they explored Hogwarts’ hallways together, the spring air not yet warmed the limestone bricks, about Hogwarts and its grounds, the supernatural things that were rumored to live in the Forbidden Forest, and all the creatures he covered in class. 

It came natural, talking to someone who held magical creatures to the same high esteem, so natural he’d let down some of the guards he’d set up in all his years as a single man. Somewhere over the course of those years, he’d resigned to remain alone. But Sebastian—

“How long have you been teaching?” Sebastian asked one night at the Inn over drinks, the both of them wedged in between small tables where other witches and wizards were unwinding after a long day’s work.

He’d shrugged, setting down his drink on the dark oak. “Two years. I’m still figuring things out. My predecessor didn’t leave a whole lot of notes besides ‘wear protective gear’.”

Sebastian stifled a laugh in the midst of swallowing, licking white foam off his lips as he asked, “Protective gear?” with a curious crease in his brow that made him appear five years younger.

“Dragons aren’t the only creatures that bite, you know.”

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed. “Last time I checked Flobberworms weren’t that harmful.”

He scoffed. “You try keeping Runespoors from biting off one of their own heads.”

“Yeah.” Sebastian grimaced, but it turned into a smile as he dove down for another sip of his beer. “That sounds rough.”

He’d beheld Sebastian then, beheld the playful smile around his mouth which made him wonder exactly what Sebastian thought of his profession and if he showed this lighter side to a lot of people— the flirting notwithstanding, this dragon tamer controlled his emotions like few others. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get a read on him.

The moment Sebastian looked up again he looked away, scrambling for something to say.

“You’re so good with them,” was what he decided on, words stuttering out of him like he was some teenage boy talking to his crush, “the students. I’m- almost jealous.”

“Please”—Sebastian had smiled, cocked an eyebrow—“those kids love you,” and without giving him any space to breathe added, “It’s that whole bashful schoolboy thing you’ve still got going on.”

All sounds drowned out around them. 

“Your boyfriend is a very lucky guy.”

“I-I don’t have a boyfriend,” he’d stuttered, realizing too late Sebastian had been fishing for exactly that answer, and by the time he caught Sebastian’s suggestive eyes over the foam of his butterbeer he’d blushed so hot he no longer needed the drink.

For once, Hogsmeade had felt like it was at the height of summer, rather than covered by a permanent coat of snow.

What had he gotten himself into?

Once the weekend rolled in he’d invited Sebastian to watch the match with him. Hufflepuff, whose canary yellow colors he wore with great pride, had lost a few games, but garnered enough points in their individual matches to still be in the running to win the Cup. As a professor he wasn’t meant to choose sides, but he was hardly the only member of faculty who did; Professor Schuester wore the blue and bronze all year round.

Sebastian, who’d donned the Slytherin greens to even things out between them, sat closer than he needed to, though he hadn’t discouraged him for a moment, too caught up in the game and everything this past week had grown into. Which still defied definition, no matter how much he tried to make sense of it.

When Sebastian had flirted with him later that night, he’d flirted back, unfamiliar flutters travelling through his insides like Flitterby Moths.

In the morning, he’d blamed that on the firewhiskey Sebastian ordered them both.

He wasn’t interested in Sebastian that way, like he hadn’t been interested in anyone for as long as he can remember, but he wouldn’t deny that he enjoyed the attention, if just for a few days.

Wandered aimlessly through his memories, he opens his satchel and pulls out a stack of letters. Five individual invitations sent by owl, one more pleading than the other, along with a few more lengthy letters that’d followed his acceptance of Sebastian’s invitations— in them Sebastian vividly described the Antipodean Opaleye that’d taken up residence in one of the larger caves of the sanctuary, and the arrival of a special guest he wanted to introduce him to.

His mother had used the word _ courting _ in one of her weekly letters, devoting three whole inches of parchment recalling how he’d always been such a lonely child, just a boy with his beasts, but he shouldn’t fear love simply because she and his dad never made it work. Love had its own spellbound ways of changing a life, of opening it up to new opportunities and fresh meaning, though he’d never discover that if he never gave anyone a chance.

Was Sebastian that person to take a chance on?

“What am I doing?” he wonders aloud, drawing David from his hiding place.

He’d wasted a lot of time questioning Sebastian’s intentions, questioning his own, and his mind remained rife with doubt.

Had he made the right choice? 

The small bowtruckle clambers out of his jacket and onto his lap, his sharp fingers stroking over Sebastian’s careful penmanship, purring as he laid down on the page. 

Maybe David knew something he didn’t.

“_Profesor_,” comes April’s voice, and the click of her heels quickly chases away any apprehension. 

He stands as he hides David out of sight and plasters on a smile, while his stomach rumbles with the sudden thought that if he doesn’t get permission to travel onward, he won’t be happy at all. His path, uncertain though it may be, lay before him, not behind. The doubts plaguing him were of his own making, established after a lifetime of living in his own sheltered world.

Truth be told, he liked that Sebastian challenged that.

“Your _ permis _ for travel,” April says, handing over a small slip of parchment, stamped with the official seal of the Ministry of Magic. 

_ Aprobat / Approved_

“Please, enjoy your _sejur _ with us.” 

With that, April turns on her heels and disappears into the office.

He blinks down at the piece of paper in disbelief.

“Th-thank you!” he calls, well out of April’s earreach, before he laughs.

He can’t believe he made this into such a big deal. 

With a new trip in his step he heads back the way he came, quickly making his way down the same hallways he traversed before, making no note of the ceiling or the lights, or anything else in his path. There’s no going back now, and there isn’t a thought in his mind that’s keen on turning around, his anxiety quelled now that he’s faced the final hurdle.

All that’s left is meeting Sebastian at the rendezvous. 

Once he’s back where he started he searches for the hallway that gives access to domestic Portkeys, stumbling onto the correct alcove soon after.

_ Dragon Sanctuar / Dragon Sanctuary _

_ Plecări / Departures _

This is it. A few more steps and he’ll enter Sebastian’s world, so vividly described in all their conversations and Sebastian’s detailed letters. Would it live up to those words? Would it meet his expectations?

He reaches for the shoddy old boot without another moment’s hesitation, caught off balance by a massively strong pull, forced to close his eyes once the alcove disappears from his peripheral vision— a _ whoosh _ pops his ears, before he lands safely on solid ground again, black soil and a collection of twigs beneath his feet.

He clutches his stomach, takes another few deep breaths and straightens out, his nausea more easily subsided; a small advantage to making a shorter trip.

The old boot lies abandoned on the ground, the sort of object a Muggle wouldn’t look at twice, and he leaves it there for the next traveller. 

Around him the forest -silenced by his arrival- comes to life again, birdsong returning one note at a time, the branches overhead reminiscent of the spelled ceiling back at the Ministry; beeches and different species of oak creaked in the wind, a blue-speckled Jobberknoll sat high up in a tree, and a family of chamois, undisturbed by his surprise appearance, fed off the bark of an oak tree.

Behind him twigs crunched beneath another set of boots, followed by a low, “_Professor Anderson_,” that tickles near the base of his spine.

He touches the tips of his fingers to his bowtie, swallowing hard; the tweed suit, matching waistcoat and blue button-up underneath suddenly don’t seem like the most sensible attire.

“Sebastian,” he says and turns in the same breath, caught halfway between shock and stupefaction at the sight of him.

His lips part.

Was it at all possible that somewhere in his lineage a Smythe married a Veela? It stood to reason Sebastian wouldn’t have lost his looks in the few months since their last encounter, but he’d hoped his enamored brain had somewhat exaggerated them.

No such luck. 

Sebastian stood as tall and confident as ever, his skin weathered and hair lightened by the sun, white henley stretched around his body. His tanned arms revealed fresh scars and vague burn marks, his hands dirty from whatever work he’d been doing prior to meeting him.

His eyes draw from the work boots in heavy duty leather up Sebastian’s lean long legs, to the half inches of his collarbone exposed by the short row of buttons undone.

And as if that wasn’t enough to start his head spinning, perched on Sebastian’s right shoulder, sat a frail Fwooper.

What on Merlin’s green earth?

A smile pulls around Sebastian’s mouth. “It’s good to see you again,” he says, and he would be caught up in the sincerity behind that smile if it weren’t for the small magical bird, its signature bright colors muted into dull pinks and lime greens.

“Is he sick?” 

He falls a subconscious step forward, studying the poor thing more closely, some of its feathers missing, its loopy tail cut short.

“This little guy?” Sebastian asks, and stretches a hand toward his shoulder, the Fwooper quick to step onto his index finger. “Left for dead by its owner.”

Stomach tying together into knots he cups a hand around the little bird. Sadly it isn’t the first time he’s heard of Fwoopers being mistreated; its twittering song could drive people insane, so a Silencing Charm had to be placed on it on a regular basis. Wizards required a licence to own a Fwooper, but most people rarely bothered to get one.

Why anyone would go through the trouble of acquiring any magical creature only to abandon it is a misdeed beyond his comprehension. 

“Can I take your bag?” Sebastian asks.

Far too preoccupied with his new friend to notice the ardor in Sebastian’s voice, Blaine mumbles a swift, “I’m good, thanks,” and follows absentmindedly behind Sebastian.

Even if he weren’t distracted he wouldn’t know what to say; he’s in Sebastian’s world now but the overlap with his is so blatantly obvious it makes him wonder why he hasn’t considered this sooner. There are creatures here he’s only ever read about and they’ve been a Portkey trip or two away. What exactly had kept him so long? Had he been too proud to admit the draw wasn’t just the creatures but Sebastian too? What was wrong with that?

Trees thin along the incline of a downward slope, the grass thick and emerald green. The chamois follow and stop at the edge of the forest, where a thick fog obscures any further views.

Sebastian leads the way, treading the natural defile twisted around rocks, the odd fern disturbing their descent into the valley—his steps come with practise and ease, making him regret not handing his bag over; juggling his bag, the sick bird, and minding his steps eclipses most of his focus and he’d hoped to see as much of the local flora as he could.

At least the mist seemed to make that impossible for the moment.

“The locals call these the Iron Gates,” Sebastian says, a disembodied voice in the mist ahead of him. “Not that any Muggle knows the full extent of them. Most of the valley was rendered-”

“-was rendered Unplottable by Harvey Ridgebit in the 1970s,” he supplies. “I remember.”

“So you were paying attention.”

“Of course I was,” he says, trying to find his feet through the thick layer of fog descended upon them. “Why wouldn’t I?”

He didn’t invite guest lecturers so he could wash his hands of his students; anyone he considered had as much to teach him as they did his students. What better way was there to learn about dragons than from someone who had hands-on experience with them?

“Most people are only here for the dragons.”

He doesn’t miss the clear hint of dejection in Sebastian’s voice, the monotone difficult to reconcile with the quick-on-his-feet silver-tongued dragonologist he’s gotten to know. Sebastian never showed any insecurity, even if he knew of a few, including his students, who were unlikely to see the man behind the glamor of the dragon tamer.

That’s not why he came here.

Truth be told, he’s far more interested in the man behind all the bravado.

Which seems to be in direct contradiction to anything he told himself this trip might be, but there it is— he’s here for the dragons as well as Sebastian. 

“You can’t really learn about magical creatures without knowing something about their natural-” 

The fog lifts as if Sebastian cast a Revelio Charm over the entire valley.

“-habitat,” he whispers, breath seizing in his lungs.

A lot of his time this past week was spent reading up on the Dragon Sanctuary, located in a gorge on the river Danube, which cut a natural border between Serbia and Romania. The Carpathian Mountains to the South was one of the richest habitats of brown bears, wolves and lynxes, home to two rare reptile species, Hermann’s Tortoise and the Long-Nosed Viper, both of them protected under Muggle law— Magical law protected the near-extinct Graphorn.

But nothing, absolutely nothing, could’ve prepared him for the sight stretched out before his eyes. 

Huge cliffs overgrown with conifers blanketed his entire field of vision, the white of the natural limestone underneath scarcely visible through the dense thicket. Pines grew parallel to the rock, at odds with gravity. Together the cliffs cut a V-like pattern through the landscape, coming together at the bottom of the valley in a big dark lake.

“Welcome to the Keep,” Sebastian says, and as his voice reaches the outskirts the ground beneath his feet trembles with a deep resonant roar, right before a dragon shaves inches above the water’s surface, its wings spanning the entire breadth of the lake below.

A dragon.

An honest-to-Merlin real-life dragon. 

Words start and stick to the back of his throat, his heart starts in an erratic pattern and he pitches a step closer to the precipice of the rocks, David growing somewhat restless in his breast pocket. Was any of this real? His eyes track the pearly scales of the Antipodean Opaleye Sebastian talked about in his letters, but no words could ever do such a creature justice, its smooth lines and utter size, its eyes hued each color of the rainbow, its sheer vastness in the endless Romanian landscape. 

How was this—? 

How did—?

“Pretty breathtaking, isn’t it?” follows Sebastian’s voice, and he’s barely looked away or his eyes lock onto something equally bewitching; Sebastian’s eyes, caught -even after all these years at the sanctuary- in the same boundless wonder he sensed expanding in his chest.

He gets it now. 

Sebastian’s letters. His insistence. His numerous invitations. 

After the time they spent together at Hogwarts, Sebastian knew this was an opportunity he couldn’t possibly pass up. Even now, he couldn’t say he trusted Sebastian’s motives entirely, but not this side of it, not when Sebastian’s in love with this place, and he imagines he will be too, very soon. There is a part of him and a part of Sebastian that makes them kindred spirits.

The thought alone starts goosebumps all over his skin.

“Come on, I’ll show you where you’ll be staying.”

With one more glance -though undoubtedly not his last- he follows Sebastian’s lead again, descending into the valley over a narrow pass flanked by thick mosses and rose-pink bell-shaped flowers, the path far less treacherous with the fog lifted. Dragon’s roar resounds from somewhere far deeper in the valley, though he can’t pinpoint its origin— caverns and caves in the rockface, he reckoned.

David crawls out of his hiding spot, up his shoulder, worming inside his collar to get a better view.

At long last, after half an hour stumbling further downhill the ground evens out at the foot of the mountain. There, a humble village comes into view, a cluster of bric-a-brac cottages in amongst larger stables and barns, an owlery at the center rife with incoming and outgoing correspondence. Despite its modest size the village bustles with activity, with people going about their days, one of them leading away an Aethonan winged horse, limping in one of its hind legs. He nearly trips over a Kneazle chasing behind three little mice, and a small pack of Cruppies make their way toward them, pawing at his legs, their forked tails wagging excitedly. 

He laughs, giddy with wonder.

What a fool he’s been, thinking he could ever resist this place. 

A bell sounds, before the Fwooper starts in his hand and takes off.

“Lunchtime,” Sebastian says, pointing out one of the red barns, where a young girl swings the large doors open wide. The Fwooper flits over and lands daintily on the girl’s shoulder, the Cruppies’ attention drawn to the same sound.

“Dottie, our resident herbologist. She makes sure everyone around here’s on the right diet.”

“Everyone?” he asks, rising on his toes to get a better look. How many different creatures did the sanctuary shelter? 

“_Everyone_,” Sebastian says, leaning in sideways, his tone underlain with an offbeat kind of cockiness that betrays some of his intent. His innate confidence notwithstanding, Sebastian means to impress, and he’s pulling out all the stops. Never in his wildest dreams did he imagine a haven like this existed, where caretakers and animals lived side by side, _ surrounded by dragons _ no less. 

“Impressed yet, professor?”

Sebastian kicks it up another notch.

David creaks in his ear. 

Turning away with a smile, reluctant to admit how affected the past hour alone has left him, his eyes fall to two young women exiting one of the cottages; one blonde, one with black hair pulled back in a high ponytail, both possessed with the kind of confidence that animated Sebastian too. 

“Santana and Quinn, two of the world’s most skilled dragonologists,” Sebastian provides unprompted, “Right after me, of course.”

Must be a dragonologist thing.

“They’re on their way to check out a Norwegian Ridgeback sighting in the Himalayas.”

“That far out?”

“Could’ve been dumped there.” Sebastian shrugs. “Could’ve escaped somewhere.” 

And when Sebastian’s eyes fall to the hard unpaved ground below, he can tell it bothers Sebastian as much as it does him; the terrible truth of why a haven like this existed far outweighed the amazement one came away with. A place like this shouldn’t have to exist. But he’s grateful it does.

“Sebastian!” a voice rings across the compound.

A lithe Asian man sprints over to them, his arms toned like Sebastian’s but far more scarred, and great urgency in his manner. “You seen Britt?”

“Not since this morning.”

“She was supposed to get the brandy for the babies.”

David creaks again, as if in tune with his thoughts. Only young dragons drank brandy at such an early stage of development. Was Mike in charge of feeding the babies? Where were their mothers? Could he see the babies? 

“Brittany’s our potioneer,” Sebastian explains, despite his thoughts having jumped elsewhere. “Fancies herself a Seer and disappears into the mountains to talk to the Phoenix without telling anyone.”

His thoughts jump again, jaw dropping. “You have a Phoenix?”

He would sell his left arm for the chance to see a Phoenix up-close. 

“_Professor_”—Sebastian’s entire face sets alight with the most brilliant smile—“We have everything”, while his cheeks burn under Sebastian’s unmistakable scrutiny.

Everyting, he thinks. _ Everything_.

Head spinning, Blaine draws in a deep breath and attempts to keep his thoughts in check— there’s so much happening all at once it’s hard to know where to look first, but he has to remember there’s time. There’s no need to rush his visit, nor does he have to see everything on his first day; he can take this one step at a time, turn in wonder around every new corner and bask in the beauty of his place.

Which will probably extend his visit. Good thing he packed enough clothes.

Eyes flitting across the compound, Mike bounces from the tips of his toes to the heels of his feet. 

“You need a hand?” Sebastian asks.

“You mind? I have to check on the Short-Snout enclosure before it gets here.”

Sebastian looks at him, cocking an eyebrow accompanied by a sly smile. “Time to get your hands dirty, professor.”

Before he has the wherewithal to insist Sebastian call him ‘Blaine’ and that he’s no stranger to _ getting his hands dirty_, Mike holds out a hand. “Professor Blaine Anderson,” he says, and winks, “we’ve heard a lot about you.”

Blaine hopes his face doesn’t flush quite as red as it feels, while David crickets a short stream of giggles. Sebastian tried long and hard to get him here if his numerous invitations were anything to go by, followed by those eager letters that each of them proved simple words on a page couldn’t do this haven any justice— had anyone else here taken notice? or were Sebastian and Mike close friends? 

“Mike is a trained Dragon Keeper,” Sebastian says, “he helps us keep them in line when they misbehave.”

Mike laughs, “Save your ass from getting roasted, more like,” before Disapparating.

“I owe him my life a few times over, I admit,” Sebastian says, folding his arms behind his back— the coy modesty suits him, and the short silence that follows leaves him to worry he hadn’t given Sebastian the benefit of his doubt; regardless his intent Sebastian wore the title dragonologist and he did his craft credit, if his teaching at Hogwarts was anything to go by. 

“That’s Sam and Tina. Our merry magizoologists.”

Sebastian gestures toward the other side of the courtyard, where a young woman and man were stacking hay for the winged horse.

“They came here to study the Graphorn two years ago but stayed on as caretakers,

“_Hunter_,” Sebastian continues with the man who joins to lend Sam and Tina a hand, “our-”, before breathing out with a puff. “I’m not sure what he does, but I’m sure if you ask him it’s something vitally important.

“Mercedes”—Sebastian points at a woman exiting the owlery with armfulls of parchments, “_astronomer_”, his eyes travelling the circumference of the courtyard before landing on, “Emma, our healer, and her new trainee...” 

Sebastian’s voice trails off. “Marissa? Maisie?” 

Blaine smiles, watching Sebastian’s face scrunch together. Even if Sebastian recalled all the names he’d never remember all of them from this brief introduction alone; with any luck there’ll be plenty of time for him to meet everyone and find out exactly what they did around here. 

Sebastian shrugs, abandoning his search for the right name. “It’ll come back to me.”

He’ll get his hands dirty if that’s what it takes, because it’s clear that everyone in this small community worked toward a common goal: maintaining the sanctuary. Sebastian, Quinn and Santana may be dragonologists first and foremost, but everyone pitched in where needed, whether it was helping Dottie feed all the animals or check inventory, or make sure all the animal pens were clean and in working order.

“Last but not least...”

Drawing to a halt, Sebastian’s eyes settle on a man at the center of the square surrounded by a small circle of people and animals. Tall, blond, broad-shouldered, he wore the kind of bright smile he saw Sebastian wear too, and he had everyone around him hanging on his every word.

“Adam Crawford,” Sebastian says, “our charismatic leader. He makes sure things run smoothly, and keeps the politicians out of our hair.”

“I thought the sanctuary wasn’t governed by Romania.”

“Not Romania, no, but we are held accountable by the Magic World. Statute of Secrecy and all.”

Sebastian’s gaze rests on Adam long enough for a growing discomfort to set between Blaine’s shoulders, one he hesitates to identify as anything resembling jealousy. He hasn’t known Sebastian long enough to think about him any way other than a friend—a friend who obviously has a past here he shouldn’t judge at first glance.

“Adam knows the borders of this place down to the last inch.”

David chirps, sounding out the corrupt thought.

“He’s in charge of the new hires too”—Sebastian winks, as if the brief slip in comportment hadn’t happened at all—“so if you’re thinking of staying he’s the man to talk to.” 

There’s the Sebastian he got to know.

Headed for one of the larger barns of the compound, Sebastian puts him to work. He drops his bag near the entrance and takes off his jacket, hiking the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows.

Sebastian sets up a dozen buckets in two neat rows while Mike Apparates back and forth with barrels of brandy, and he carries in pitchers of chicken blood. Once all the materials are collected, he and Sebastian start filling each bucket with equal parts chicken blood and brandy, the stench surpassed only by that of Stinksap.

“So why Care of Magical Creatures?” Sebastian asks, somehow managing to appear unaffected by the smell. “It’s not the safest job in the world.”

“You should talk,” he says, eyes tracing not too subtly over the scars on Sebastian’s arms.

“Yeah, but I like living on the edge.” 

Eyes falling to the work at hand, he tries his best not to take that as an insult— teaching might not be considered the most glamorous profession but he works hard at it, making sure his students receive the best education he can possibly offer to prepare them for the care of magical creatures. At the very least he hopes the kids he teaches don’t become wizards and witches that would abandon or neglect a creature in their care. Surely Sebastian can see that. 

As far as his scars were concerned, they may not be noticeable but that doesn’t mean there weren’t any— he has Runespoor bite marks on his wrists and fingers, and Fire Crab burns on his legs. In any case, he wore the appropriate protective gear when the situation called for it.

Sebastian looks up, awaiting his answer.

That’s when he recalls his mother’s words, and in his mind’s eye he pictures that boy his mother called lonely, alone with his creatures. Thinking of it as loneliness seemed too simple, demeaning even, when he was surrounded by so many beautiful beasts who loved him unconditionally, who needed him like he needed them.

But had it been -or is it still- enough?

“I’ve always been surrounded by magical creatures,” he says, recalling the conservatory and the garden disappearing into the forest behind his old house—the thick scent of fresh dirt, flowering Chrysanthemums, the meandering gravel path. Neither of his parents had green thumbs so he took care of it all; mowed the lawn, cleaned out the pond, pruned the Hydrangeas, all resulting in some kind of wandless magic that made that garden much more of a home than the actual house he lived in.

“The garden had Knarls and Jarveys. Horklumps in the flower beds, and a family of Puffskeins in the tomato plants.” 

Truth be told, those creatures were his friends when his parents argued, or when his father left his mom behind in tears— in that small ailing space they were enough to shut out all the noise, and the startling realization that perhaps love wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

“There was this”—he hiccups a laugh at the clear memory that comes to mind, unaware of Sebastian advancing a step—“Niffler one of the neighbors found under his vegetable beds. He’d been wondering all spring why nothing was growing until one day he pulled up a tiny carrot with his missing gold watch attached.”

“You put a lot of care in your creatures.”

Sebastian voice a lot closer than he expected, he looks up to find him no half a foot away, staring at him with that same barely contained wonder he’d beheld the sanctuary with. Or was that his imagination?

“Someone has to,” he says, heart growing heavier.

“Who takes care of you?” Sebastian asks, voice soft, as though he’s all too aware of that boy, lonely or not, in desperate need of nurture. 

“I don’t-” 

A breath stutters out of him, while David’s sharp fingers dig into the back of his neck.

“It’s not-” He laughs, voice shaking with nerves. “I’m perfectly fine on my own.”

Drawing yet another step closer, Sebastian says, “You’re not on your own,” and thumbs at the collar of his shirt.

What will he beg next? Another touch? A kiss?

The potential of Sebastian scares him, this idea that he could give into the spellbound sensation growing inside him and fall into Sebastian, disappear under that sun-weathered skin and think nothing of it. Become a part of something much bigger than the small part of the world he’d carved out for himself and his creatures.

It doesn’t sound at all like him.

“Who’s this little guy?” Sebastian asks, eyes falling to David, still snuggled up inside his collar.

Oh.

_ Oh_. Of course. 

“D-David,” he stutters, drawing an uneven step back. “After David Bowie. You know, _ bow _truckle- Bowie- David,” he rambles, while Sebastian’s brow lowers over his eyes. 

Sebastian pulls David free, the bowtruckle’s tiny hands clutched around Sebastian’s index finger while his legs flounder mid-air.

“Who’s David Bowie?” 

Who’s-?

He took Sebastian for a lot of things -charming, cocky, even caring when he tried- but uncultured?

“Neither of your parents are Muggles, are they?”

Sebastian shakes his head. “Neither were my grandparents, or their parents before them”, smiling as David swings like a little Tarzan from one of his fingers to the next.

His fingers tense around the handle of a pitcher.

Had he been wrong about Sebastian? Maybe there was nothing Veela or extraordinary about him. Maybe he was simply a prat pure-blood. Maddeningly attractive, but ultimately more charm than substance.

“Smythes put great importance on their- _ purity of blood _.” 

Sebastian huffs, his hesitation spreading from his words to a sudden stiffness in his jaw, and a darkening mood he hadn’t expected— Sebastian’s tone reflects disgust, which makes him think they’re not Sebastian’s words, but rather a family member’s who failed to keep those kind of opinions private. 

Those opinions aren’t new to him, nor have they become any easier to stomach. 

He heard them at school, whispered by even the youngest students, indoctrinated by their parents and grandparents to think themselves better than Muggle-born or half-blood witches and wizards.

Those kinds of derogatory terms were thrown at him as a young boy too, by wizards in the neighborhood, by people at school, and his grandmother on his father’s side. It’d left him to wonder why his father married his mother at all, especially given how that relationship stranded. He’d always had a hard time accepting that he got his magic from his father, when he’d never known him to be anything but cold— his care for animals, his care for anything, he got from his mother, as well as lessons that would prove invaluable.

Like how it was okay to take a chance on people, on love, because those kinds of chances were their own reward.

Like this new lesson, centered wholly around Sebastian.

“All bullshit if you ask me.” 

Sebastian’s tone hasn’t lightened. Maybe it was a mistake asking about his parents.

“As if having pure blood excuses any of the shit wizards pull.” 

Setting David on his shoulder Sebastian opens the last barrel of brandy, and divides its contents over the remaining few buckets, already filled with chicken blood.

“I walked away from that life a long time ago. Never looked back.”

“That- can’t have been easy,” he says, his own shoulders crawling with unease over having judged Sebastian so quickly. _ Their _ purity of blood, Sebastian said, as if trying to distance himself from the whole lot of them.

It’s clear Sebastian holds fast to the same principles he does; there isn’t a single excuse in the known universe that can justify the exploitation of a magical creature, be it for entertainment or food or profit, and punishments for harming magical creatures should be far graver than they are now. 

“It was an easy decision to make after seeing what some wizarding families do to magical creatures.”

Sebastian walked away from his family, a legacy more than likely, to end up in this small wizard-made village a far cry from any mansions or privilege. He got his hands dirty, he did the work, and it was clear as day he loved what he did.

It wasn’t unlike how he’d set himself apart from his father— he chose his own path, far away from that pure blood side of the family.

“Come on,” Sebastian says, wiping his hands clean on his pants, “there’s someone I want you to meet.”

Blaine looks over the buckets they spent the past half hour filling. “What about the babies?”

“You still smell too much like England.”

Sticking up his nose, Blaine couldn’t say he smelled any different than the rest of the barn, an acidic smorgasbord of hard liquor and the pungent tang of rust. 

“You’d get them far too agitated,” Sebastian amends, and moves to leave the barn— that is until David rises on his shoulder and stands to his full height of six inches, placing his hands on his hips, huffing out his malcontent. Honestly, in what world would he ever leave David behind?

At the sound of David’s discontent puff in his ear, Sebastian pauses and turns towards him; he mirrors David’s stance, and cocks an eyebrow.

“Are you going to ignore the advice of a certified dragonologist, professor?”

David deflates.

He sighs. No. Last thing he wants to do is disrupt any of the sanctuary’s set routines because he couldn’t temper his curiosity. He’ll defer to Sebastian’s sound advice on the matter. Though he didn’t have to be so cocky about it. 

“Please, call me Blaine.”

“Alright. _ Blaine_,” Sebastian says, green eyes dancing with amusement. “Come on, I told you I had a surprise.”

This time he follows behind Sebastian without further complaint, ducking out of one barn into one further back, tucked close to the rockface at the bottom of the mountain. Sunshine reaches weakly through the slatted walls, revealing red paint peeling off the light wood underneath, circular scorch marks marring the doors and roof. There’s hay beneath his feet, dark earth beneath that, somewhere at the back, in one of the animal pens, starts the unmistakable low growl of a dragon. 

David shrieks and dives into Sebastian’s shirt, turning into a shivering little lump near Sebastian’s right shoulder, while his feet carried him closer still, unsated curiosity drawing him in, fearless in his pursuit. This is what it’s all been about, experiencing creatures up close, studying them, learning from them.

Soon the dragon comes into view, standing up the moment Sebastian enters its field of vision, strutting over lazily— Blaine’s heart stutters in his chest, eyes tracing the dark rough scales, the ridges on its back, the tail tipped with an arrow-shaped spike.

Its brilliant purple eyes.

His lips part. 

A Hebridean Black.

Never in his life did he imagine he’d get this close to a dragon considered one of the most aggressive of its species; judging by its size it’s only a few years old, a few heads taller than Sebastian, but even at that age dragons can be lethal. Especially when provoked.

But to be this close, close enough to touch— Was he dreaming?

The dragon lowered its head.

Careful to remain in the dragon’s line of sight, Sebastian looks at him sideways, throws him a small smile, and reaches back a hand.

Whatever nonsense had kept him fearless disappears. 

Surely they’re close enough already. What if this dragon didn’t like the smell of him either? This is exactly the kind of behavior that led to scars. Sebastian was wearing no protective gear, hadn’t offered him any, and he expected him to come even closer?

Blaine bites at his lower lip.

Was that good old self-preservation? Or was that his own prejudice rearing its ugly head?

“_Blaine_,” Sebastian urges. 

For the first time since they met his name doesn’t fall from those lips with any ulterior intent behind it, and Sebastian’s eyes -green like a Common Welsh’s- ask one simple thing. Trust.

Trust the experienced dragonologist not to endanger his life. 

David’s head pops up out of Sebastian’s shirt.

Sebastian wouldn’t put him in danger. 

Without another moment’s thought, he takes hold of Sebastian’s hand and finds himself pulled toward both dragon and dragon tamer. His heartbeat pounds in his ears, his breathing deepens, but he lets himself be swept up in the moment. Moving to stand behind him Sebastian raises his hand to the dragon’s head, gently placing it on top.

A breath catches at the back of his throat. 

The dragon’s scales are warm, smooth like glass— if he weren’t touching a hand to it he might mistake the thick hide for a liquid, obsidian black dancing with sunlight.

“She was found wandering the woods in Bulgaria,” Sebastian says, his breath warm at his ear sending a not altogether unpleasant shiver down his spine. “Probably abandoned by some wannabe dragon breeder.” 

He fondly notes Sebastian’s use of the word ‘she’ rather than ‘it’. These aren’t just creatures to Sebastian, they’re sentient beings who deserved their love and respect, their care, and more than anything they deserved to be seen as their equals. In the case of dragons, he daresay humans were far inferior.

Fingers caressing over the arch of the dragon’s eyebrow the dragon purrs and there’s that unmistakable sense of wonder again, true magic, wandless magic, expanding well past the known edges of his world. No spell or potion could ever come close to bottling this sensation, this living right on the precipice of everything within reach. All he has to do is reach out. Take a chance. 

“I thought dragons couldn’t be domesticated.”

“Careful, professor. That’s exactly what she wants you to think.” 

Blaine falls silent, differing to Sebastian’s wisdom.

“She’s gathering strength,” Sebastian says, “growing. But as soon as she’s strong enough to fly her instincts will take over and she’ll be insufferable.” 

That’s when he notices the deep laceration in one of the dragon’s wings; the wound is healing well but the pain must be unbearable— wings were a dragon’s extensions toward the sky, a rebellious sort of freedom that probably had a lot to do with why they were feared so much. Humans had to conquer the skies. Dragons already belonged to them.

“Won’t you, girl?” Sebastian says softly, rubbing behind the dragon’s neck. 

Moving a few steps back, he takes the time to look at Sebastian, to _ see _ him and the glint in his eye. It’d been there throughout his lectures at Hogwarts, recounting the history of the few dragons reserves around the world but he’d seen it somewhere else too. At the Three Broomsticks Inn, sat at a small table opposite Sebastian, over a round of butterbeers. He knows now, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that he’d looked at Sebastian the same way.

“Rachel here knows how to get what she wants.”

Blaine blinks. “Rachel?”

“I named her after someone I knew at school.”

“That’s”—his eyes narrow—“not really a compliment.”

Sebastian laughs. “Wasn’t meant to be.”

On Sebastian’s shoulder, David tilts his head to the left, regarding the dragon -Rachel- with great curiosity. It isn’t every day one got to see a Hebridean Black up-close, let alone this seemingly docile. David crawls up Sebastian’s neck and hoists himself on top of his head, using Sebastian’s ear for leverage, drawing another laugh out of the dragonologist. 

When Sebastian turns, however, David cries outrage.

“Let’s not overstay our welcome here, shall we, little guy?” Sebastian asks, reaching up for David, who promptly jumps down to Sebastian’s shoulder again. “What-?”

David creaks, and looks to him for help.

Blaine shakes his head lovingly, plucking his little friend off Sebastian’s shoulder. 

“Don’t worry”—he looks at Sebastian—“It’s not you.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever met a bowtruckle this-”

“Self-willed?”

David gasps. 

“And here I thought you liked me”—Sebastian stares down David, which spreads an agreeable warmth all through his chest. He’s been so alone in his unapologetic love for every magical creature that crossed his path it’s wondrous to find someone who feels the same way, who looks at David and doesn’t see a _ thing _ whose care he’s burdened with, but a little _ someone_, who shows him a lot of care in return. 

David’s love was unconditional. He’s found it isn’t always the same for humans. 

“Where did you learn all this?” Blaine asks as they exit the tattered red barn, slowly making their way back to the village.

“Everywhere,” Sebastian says. “School never really agreed with me so I spent some time in Wales and Sweden. But once I found this place-”

Sebastian stuck around, like Sam and Tina. 

“You didn’t go to school?”

“Quit my fourth year.” Sebastian eyes him. “It’s like you said, can’t know a creature if you don’t know its habitat. So I decided my time was better spent out here instead of some dusty library filled with stuffy books.”

Sebastian halts in his tracks, and adds, “You’re kind of a snob, aren’t you?” with such playful mirth it’s difficult to disagree. 

“I’m-” Blaine straightens and rolls his shoulders, surprised he’s so eager to let himself get insulted. Snobbery has nothing to do with it; he liked his libraries dusty and his books stuffy — they’d taught him a lot over the years, like how to take care of Horklumps, and get the Puffskeins to stop sneaking into the house and drinking out of the toilet bowl. 

He’s not sure where he’d be without his copy of _ Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_, even though he realizes now that Newt Scamander must’ve lived a life a lot closer to Sebastian’s. 

But he can appreciate Sebastian’s perspective too. He was sixteen. A six-year old couldn’t exactly set out into the world.

Maybe, somewhere along the way, that lonely boy had settled for what he had and stopped looking outside of his world or to the future for any greater adventure. But if there’s one thing he’s learned about himself by coming here it’s he’s drawn to that adventure, to that future, which may well be filled with Phoenixes and baby dragons and a rare Graphorn sighting. 

He laughs. “Can we settle for ‘academic’?”

“On one condition,” Sebastian’s quick to reply. 

His eyebrows rise.

“A date.”

“A date?”

“I don’t think I’ve made my interest in you a secret,” Sebastian says, idling a step closer, “Been- throwing myself at you, in fact, rather unabashedly,” and folds his arms behind his back, all coy and _ unabashed_, leaning in to get his point across. 

His cheek heat.

“_Your _ interest however...” Sebastian’s voice trails off.

What about his interest? As much as he’d tried to deny it, he came here as much for Sebastian as he did the creatures sheltered by the sanctuary, but he’s not sure how to say that without admitting that he wants love, he wants romance, and yet the thought of it scares him out of his wits.

“You’re killing me here, professor.”

“I’d- like that,” he says, desire outweighing some of that fear. “A date.” 

“Tonight?”

Blaine nods. “Tonight.”

He spends another few hours in the village, introduced to all the people Sebastian pointed out before, each and every single one of them talking about their specialties and passions with that thrilling glint in their eyes, like they’re all in love with the work they do here, the sanctuary itself, and the family they made. 

It’s enviable, to say the least. Sebastian walked away from his pureblood family, and found a much better one right here. 

He meets Brittany, the sanctuary’s resident potioneer, who had no luck finding the Phoenix, which, considering they tend to nest on mountain peaks doesn’t seem that odd— much like dragons, Phoenixes have proven near impossible to domesticate.

A little before dawn, Sebastian shows him to the guest cabins, right next to the researchers’s cabins on the edge of the village and right before going their separate ways, Sebastian winks at him, “Don’t wear anything too fancy,” making him believe that every detail of their evening had already been planned out.

Which fails to calm him down.

At least he had some time to himself now, a little room to breathe before Sebastian chased all of the oxygen away again, leaving him lightheaded and dreaming. What if he stayed here for a while? Could be become part of this family too? Share his love for animals with not only Sebastian but everyone else? Could it be he found a new calling? 

Mind too full to focus on any one thing, Blaine draws himself a bath, and sinks into the comforting heat of the water, washing off England and the smell of chicken blood and brandy.

This time yesterday he was still up in arms over having to travel so far, worried about his travel documents, about travelling with David, about the written declaration he had to fill out at the Romanian Ministry. Now, after just one day, he’d do it all over again knowing what awaited him here—the hot dragonologist notwithstanding, there were many kindred spirits here he never thought to look for before. Would they allow him to stay, should he ask?

Worries for later, he thinks as he lays out five outfits on the bed. Thank Merlin he packed enough clothes. He tries on three different shirts and five pair of pants, but none of them seem the right fit for the occasion. What do people wear on a date with a renowned dragonologist who’s taken every opportunity to make his interest in him known?

David huffs, sat perched on the nightstand. 

“Don’t look at me like that”—he points a stern finger at the bowtruckle, who crosses his branches over his chest and sticks out his tongue—“I haven’t been on a date in ages,” he says, trying to tie his tie. Was this too formal? Too much? _ Too fancy _? 

Why had Sebastian even asked him out in the first place? 

His fingers shake around both ends of the tie and he pulls it free again with an exasperated, “I don’t even-,” throwing it to the floor, body rife with nerves. 

Blaine sinks down on the bed, both hands covering his face. Why was this so hard for him? He_ likes _Sebastian, and Sebastian’s made it no secret he likes him too, so this is ridiculous. Nothing he’s learned led him to mistrust any of Sebastian’s motivations. Quite the contrary, actually.

David creaks directly below him.

Peeking through his fingers he sees David brought him a letter, pulled from the stack he’d tied together in his bag.

Not any of Sebastian’s letters, but the one his mom wrote. 

What would she say to him were she here? _ Take a chance_, Blaine, _ you’re not your dad_, and neither is Sebastian— Sebastian would love your creatures as his own and he’d never let any harm come to them, or you, for that matter. _ Trust yourself_, Blaine, you’ll know if he’s worth taking a chance on. 

Maybe that’s what she would say. Maybe that’s what he hopes she would say. 

Either way, his heart seems decided on the matter. He likes Sebastian, so maybe it’s time to be brave. Take a chance. Trust himself. 

And definitely trust David.

In the end he decides to wear a black turtleneck sweater and comfortable pants, along with sturdy boots in case Sebastian planned on taking him up into the mountains. 

Night falls over the small wizard village, and all goes quiet as people pair off for their evening plans; he sees Mike knocking at Tina’s door, while Santana and Brittany head out of the village walking hand-in-hand, skipping every few steps. Back at Hogwarts he’d check on his creatures one last time before having dinner with the other professors, and retire to his chambers afterwards— in too many ways he was still that lonely boy, alone with his beasts.

Here, he’s not alone. 

A dragon or two glides through the sky above, moonlight catching their brilliant wings, and he thinks about Rachel, still unable to fly, shut up all alone in that red barn. How long before she flew again? How long before her stay at the sanctuary was a far off memory and she forgot all about the wizards that helped her? Would she? There was a lot of speculation about a dragon’s memory and how far back it went. He likes to think he’s conquered some part of it. 

“You look nice,” Sebastian’s voice sounds behind him.

He turns, smiling as he watches the dragon tamer walk up to him, stomach filling with Flitterby moths again. Yes. He’s making the right choice. 

For all his talk about not wearing anything ‘too fancy’ Sebastian cleaned up well for the occasion; blue jeans and a shawl-collared sweater, and in his hand, a picnic basket. 

Sebastian takes him back up the mountain, not far from where he’d Portkeyed in this morning, where they settle near the edge of the cliffs, overlooking the entire moonlit valley below. They spread a blue checkered blanket out over the grass, ground steadily losing the sun’s heat, and Sebastian conjures up some floating lights without the aid of a wand. 

Figures.

The picnic basket contains a variety of sandwiches, two glasses and a bottle of red wine, and a few pastries for desserts. It may not be -as Sebastian claims- _ haute cuisine _, but it’s the nicest dinner he can remember having in a long time; the company’s great, their conversation comprises Rachel and Felix the Phoenix, and the willfulness of bowtruckles.

“Why did you invite me here?”

Sebastian’s eyebrows rise with the question, “Beyond the obvious?” and he can’t help the nervous laughter that escapes him.

He’s no longer sure which is obvious anymore, that this falls in line with his field of interest and study, or if it’s some elaborate ploy meant to seduce him— there are moments where both those options are glaringly obvious as well as maddeningly enticing and it’s all rather... overwhelming, to say the least.

“Look”—Sebastian rubs over his mouth, clearly nervous talking to him about this. Had he been so dismissive of Sebastian’s advances?—“I know I can be forward-”

“No, I-” he pauses, drawing a deep breath before continuing, lest he trip over the words, “I like that.”

“Alright.” Sebastian smiles, encouraged by his answer. “I like you, professor. _ Blaine _,” Sebastian amends, “And I don’t often find myself liking someone who I can impress with what I do.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

There had to be wizards and witches chomping at the bit to spend a night with a dragon tamer.

“Everyone loves the _ idea _ of someone who works with dragons,” Sebastian says, looking away with a swift shake of his head, “but there’s a lot of prejudice out there.”

When all’s said and done he’d misread Sebastian completely; he was so afraid that Sebastian’s reasons for inviting him encompassed him and not his passions, without realizing that Sebastian feared his reason for coming was the celebrity of knowing a dragonologist, and not necessarily wanting to know the man behind the creatures.

But what a man that was.

“They are dangerous, and they can’t be domesticated, but that’s not the point of magical creatures. They live in this world just like us and they deserve-”

Sebastian gestures over the whole of the valley, over the wide open space afforded the sanctuary’s creatures; not one of them lives in captivity nor is anyone trying to tame them— everyone here tries to take care of these magical beasts best they can, get them back on their feet, feed them, heal them, or simply give them a place to call home away from a world that’d been cruel to them. What more could anyone ask for?

“I agree,” he says softly.

This draws a shy smile out of Sebastian, caught in a rare moment of vulnerability, though maybe he’d mislabeled that all along; he thought Sebastian closed off and hard to read, but maybe there’s nothing to read because this dragonologist wears his heart on his sleeve, and rarely said anything he didn’t mean.

It’s not like Sebastian had hidden his intent. It’s that he had more than one reason for inviting him. 

He’s decided he liked all those reasons, and he has every intention of enjoying each reason Sebastian gave him extra.

“That’s why I invited you.”.

A softness sinks into Sebastian’s gaze, some faraway look that makes him feel closer to Sebastian than he’s ever felt before, like Sebastian can see all the way back to that boy in the garden, trace his every step, each hesitation, and holds out a hand to him, asking for his trust— Sebastian sees all of him, and not all that long ago that scared him senseless.

But not now.

Sebastian’s eyes fall to his lips, and before he knows it that little boy has taken Sebastian’s hand. He meets Sebastian halfway and falls forward, caught in the thought that he’d already taken a chance on Sebastian months ago at Hogwarts. Their lips meet in a kiss and the sanctuary dissipates, his every thought eclipsed by the warmth of Sebastian’s mouth, the hand on his cheek, the gentle push for more. 

His lips part just as he senses the _ whoosh _ of a dragon flapping its wings above them and he laughs, mouth tripping haphazardly against Sebastian’s.

Both of them look up at the sky, a Swedish Short-Snout quickly disappearing in the dark of night, and it’s- it’s _ everything _.

This is exactly where he needs to be. 

“I’m glad you came.”

He catches Sebastian’s eyes, lit up a golden green in the magic candlelight. 

“Me too,” he says softly. 

He made the right choice. 

With a snap of Sebastian’s finger the lights go out, and whatever remained of their dinner disappears back into the picnic basket. 

Sebastian stands. “Come on,” he says, and reaches down a hand, “One last stop today.”

Skin buzzing with excitement, he lets Sebastian pull him to his feet. How was there still more to see?

Sebastian dives down and plants another kiss to his lips.

His head swims. 

In the very best way.

Then, led by the hand, stars lighting their way one bright dot after the other, Sebastian guides him into the black of the valley. His fingers tighten around Sebastian’s, placing his trust in the dragon tamer’s hands again, following behind blindly as his heart starts a new exciteful rhythm. Where would Sebastian take him next? What more could there possibly be to see?

What if this is the promise Sebastian truly held: an endless journey of discovery, of wonder and excitement, and an understanding between them he’s never shared with anyone before.

Twigs snap and leaves crunch beneath his boots reentering the forest, stars obscured by high treetops, branches intertwining overhead like an endless series of interlocked hands— a bird or two chirps its late night song, smaller animals scurrying when their footsteps approach, but most of all he’s caught by the fresh scent of pine permeating the night air. 

It smells like Christmas back at Hogwarts.

“Still with me, professor?”

He smiles, squeezing Sebastian’s hand in reply. Sebastian’s grip tightens. 

It isn’t long before he can hear water running, and the dark soon gives way to the light of the valley, the moon and the stars, falling to a brick building by the water’s edge. Water laps at the shore, and as Sebastian brings them closer, he can see candle light flickering in the windows.

“Harvey Ridgebit’s original home,” Sebastian says. “This is where it all started.”

“Where what started?”

“Patience, professor”—Sebastian squeezes his hand and leads him the remaining distance, and he forgives Sebastian the use of his title because he’s clearly gotten attached to it, and he does love how it rolls off Sebastian’s tongue. 

From up-close he can tell the building had some religious significance to Muggles once, the cross at the top of the tower a telltale sign. Perhaps it’d been one of their churches once upon a time, or a monastery. 

Headed inside, the first thing he senses is the pleasant warmth inside, even though these kinds of buildings tended to be cold; the thick unevenly stacked bricks didn’t let in any heat from outside, so it must be coming from inside the building. Pushing deeper still he comes to a large circular room, filled with a total of five large fonts. 

All of them filled with hot coals.

One top of which dragon eggs rested.

The place where it all began.

A hatchery.

“Sebastian,” he hushes.

“I know,” Sebastian voices, and he might’ve scolded him for the clear cocky manner in which he said it if it weren’t for the eggs, which, his stuffy books taught him, all varied in shape and size; a Swedish Short-Snout’s had shiny pearl scales and were smaller in size like the Peruvian Vipertooth’s, whose eggs came in a marble blue with black bleeds in them. Each of them unique, all of them—

“These were all abandoned?”

Dragon mothers usually breathed fire on their eggs to keep them warm, so he can only imagine why these eggs were brought here and kept like this. 

“Abandoned. Illegally traded,” Sebastian says, that same hint of dejection apparent in his voice. “They find their way to us for different reasons.”

Poor things, he thinks, all alone in this world.

At least they’re safe now, here, in this wonderful place, and they’ll have the best care at their disposal until they’re old enough to fend for themselves. He wonders if they’ll remember their caretakers. 

“We like to keep them away from all the fuss of the camp.”

Drawn to Sebastian’s soft tone of voice, he sees him with clear eyes; a boy, perhaps a little less lonely than him, who loved these creatures without conditions, without doubt, living in the world with them, beside them.

“Why dragons?” he asks, because there had to be more to it than living on the edge, as Sebastian had put it so eloquently earlier.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Sebastian considers his question for long contemplative moments. He gives a few of the eggs a quarter turn, making sure they stay warm enough, awaiting Sebastian’s answer. 

“When I was eight,” Sebastian says, “my grandpa entered in the annual broom race, in Sweden.”

Sebastian smiles, “I remember everything about it. From seeing him off at the starting line to Apparating on the other side to wait for him. My mom bought me a bunch of Chocolate Frogs and Dragon Claws,” and he can vividly picture a young Sebastian Smythe, jumping up and down by his mother’s side, chocolate smeared all around his mouth and coated over his fingers, his eyes widening in wonder at the sight of such majestic creatures.

The race, he knew, ran for 437 miles straight through a Swedish Short-Snout dragon reservation, and the trophy came in the shape of the dragon too. He’d never seen the reservation, nor could he imagine that many Short-Snouts in one and the same place, but he can imagine the impression it left on an eight-year old boy. 

He wonders if it’s a boy he could’ve gotten along with when he was younger, but he pushes the thought aside quickly. No point in lingering too much on what could have been.

In any case, Sebastian’s story only confirms what he’d suspected all along. Deep down, Sebastian was a bit of a romantic.

“I won’t lie. Part of the draw was the title, but after a while...”

He likes that Sebastian’s honest about it, that he too was seduced by the idea of becoming a dragon tamer, gain some cool scars and have great stories to tell people, but that he fell under their spell all the same, their ancient magic unfathomable. 

“I don’t know”—Sebastian shrugs—“they just-”

“Talk to you,” he offers, drawing Sebastian’s gaze.

Green eyes soften. “Something like that.”

“Maybe you’re kindred spirits.”

Sebastian’s brow lowers over his eyes, his hands sliding into his pockets as he wanders a step closer, no doubt recalling his reaction to the name ‘Rachel’. 

“I’m not sure I should take that as a compliment.”

“You should. Some people are more like dragons and others more like”—he snorts—“Flobberworms.”

“You’re no Flobberworm,” Sebastian says, eyes setting off in contemplation before he adds, “More of an Occamy.”

Blaine frowns. An Occamy was a two-legged serpentine-bodied creature with plumes for fur, aggressive when approached. 

“Fitting whatever space is available,” Sebastian supplies.

It was called Choranaptyxis; an ability some magical creatures possessed to grow or shrink depending on what space they occupied. Why Sebastian would associate such an ability with him is anyone’s guess. He’s stuck to the limited space allotted him for as long as he can remember— the garden behind the house, his rooms at Hogwarts, his countless tomes on the care of magical creatures. Even in those spaces he remained small, lonely, never braving past the confines of those books or the walls around him. 

“I’m not sure that applies to me.”

“Maybe that’s because you’ve never taken the space to unfold,” Sebastian fires back, touching so close to the truth it’s a miracle his fear hasn’t yet driven him back home. But Sebastian has this way about him, more than any slick charm he’s an intuitive creature like his dragons, and he daresay he’s fallen under his spell.

He idly wonders if that makes Sebastian untameable too.

“You’re right”—he laughs—“I’m-” 

He’s _ shaking _ that’s what, with the untapped potential of what he thought his life’s work, of Sebastian and him, of every day he’s let pass where he hasn’t run up against the boundaries that comprised his life and pushed back.

“I thought I’d seen my share of magical creatures. But this place-”

Blaine shakes his head, more than a little disbelief still keeping him firmly in check. It’s one thing to teach and do what he loved, but living side by side with these majestic beasts, seeing them day in day out— he could stand _ to learn _so much.

Sebastian smiles. “It has that effect on a lot of people.”

Despite all the wonders of his world, he’s never seen magic quite like this before.

He’s been confined to the perfect comfort of a home he created for himself and his creatures, reading books on Thunderbirds and Zouwus without realizing those fantastic beasts are out there, living in the wild, and he has the means to go find them. There’s nothing tying him to any one place but himself.

“Why don’t you stay for a while?”

Blaine wants nothing more than for it to be another invitation, wide-open and waiting, the next step in their courtship romance, a chance to spread his wings far past the reaches of his small world. 

“Would that be okay?”

“You’d have to carry your weight,” Sebastian says, in a tone so teasing it reawakens the Flitterby Moths fluttering through his insides. 

This time around he can’t blame it on any firewhiskey. 

Sebastian strokes his fingers along the locks of hair that have fallen across his forehead, pushing them back in place. His skin tingles.

“But I could stand to have that smile around for a while longer,” Sebastian says softly, before he meets his eyes again. It scares him, everything Sebastian could be, everything this place might come to mean to him, but maybe his mom was right. It’s time to take a chance.

“Okay,” he whispers.

“Okay,” Sebastian echoes, followed by a blinding smile. 

Somewhere in the deepest caverns of the mountain a dragon roars, the sound carrying well past the green valley of the Iron Gates, reverberating in the very earth beneath their feet. 

  
  


**\- fin -**


End file.
